


Value, Criterion, Contentions

by orphan_account



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: AU, High School AU, Lance's POV, Shiro needs sleep, There's a cafe and it's lit, debate team au, they/them pronouns for Pidge
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-02
Updated: 2017-01-08
Packaged: 2018-09-14 06:37:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9166498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: My name is Lance Mcclain, and I'm a freshman at Altea High. I just joined the Speech and Debate team as a Lincoln-Douglas debater, and there's this one guy who really gets on my nerves.





	1. Chapter 1

Being a debater is hard, okay? You gotta come to practice six hours a week. You’ve got tournaments on weekends–day or two-day long ordeals that leave you feeling sapped and leaden. And you’ve gotta balance debate things with homework. So everyone needs to be pretty responsible. Who woulda thought. Me hanging with the responsible kids. Debate is hard for me. I’m not exactly the brightest, but I got into three GATE classes. I’d never have made it this far if not for Pidge and Hunk. Anyway, debate is about the LAST, period, place I thought I would get involved in drama. Freshman year was a wild ride.

A few blocks off Main Street, there’s this little cafe called Lion Coffee. It’s wedged in between the Baptist church and the trashy Hopespring apartments like an old sock dropped behind the bed. Driving by, your eyes almost skip over the little brick facade, despite the garish painted lions gamboling about on the windows. Some people call it a pokey little dump. I like to think of it as a buried treasure. Every time we open that creaky door we enter a secret temple only we know about. Every stranger sitting in the little booths is a fellow adventurer with whom we exchange cordial nods and mutual respect. There’s never more than a few people at the cafe besides us, and what few there are mostly sit alone, looking lost, like their coffee can fill the voids in their hearts. So it’s always fairly quiet and free of distractions. The light streaming in dyed by the colored windows makes it feel like bathing in a rainbow. Hunk, Pidge, and I always sit in the same booth by the door. One of us always has to sit with their back to the window, unable to gaze out on the street. We really should come up with some sort of rotation. Maybe we shouldn’t. I kinda like the little race to see who can claim their seat first. 

Hunk was bouncing his leg. Every few seconds, he would press Ctrl+R on his laptop, then whine in frustration.  
“Hunk, calm down!” Pidge snapped.  
“Itinerary won’t be up for a bit,” I told him.  
“It could be up early,” he countered, refreshing again. I discreetly slid his latte away from his susceptible-to-liquid computer, then sighed and returned to my homework. The numbers marched across my page like militant Lilliputians. I was Gulliver, tied up in their ropes of equations and proofs. Pidge, who that day had the misfortune of sitting facing away from the window, peered over the top of their glasses at the textbook before me.  
“Proofs?” they asked. I nodded.  
“I just don’t see the point! I mean, why can’t we just take these and solve the damn equation?” I asked.  
“They’ll help you eventually,” Pidge said soothingly. “In the meantime, try flowchart proofs.”  
I stared out the window at the yarn shop across the street. I wasn’t actually mad about proofs. I actually like them. Words make a lot more sense to me than numbers. Sure, numbers are the “universal language,” as Pidge says all the time, but I think once you fully standardize something it loses true significance. Pidge brought me back to reality with a gentle tap on the arm. I started slightly, shocked out of my reverie. Grumbling, I set about proving that AB=BC. Problem one out of eighteen. Once I got going, it was a bit easier to stay focused. One of the reasons I love the Lion is that I can function like a normal person. Sure, my mind still jumps around like a squirrel on ecstasy, but something about the Lion calms that rabid rodent and allows me to get my homework done.

That day was the first day I saw Keith at the Lion. I was staring absentmindedly out the window when I saw an unmistakable figure jaywalking to the cafe–OUR cafe. For a second, my breath stopped in my throat as he glanced in my direction, but his eyes skimmed right over mine, probably to take in the patterned lions on the window. It was unmistakable now: he was coming into the cafe. It was like a drop of red dye had been dripped into clear blue water. I felt simmering rage heat my cheeks as he casually opened the door. This was our space. Our sanctuary. How dare he? I stared determinedly at my textbook until the words blurred. I occasionally cast furtive side glances at him, and I listened for his voice. He always sounded slightly pissed off, even as he ordered a chai latte from the mousy girl behind the counter. I prayed he would leave quickly. I had total tunnel vision. There was a plexiglass wall between me and Hunk, and the table between Pidge and I was a million miles wide. To be honest, I would kill to be able to focus that completely on anything else. I peeked at Keith as he absentmindedly ran his gloved hand through his messy black hair. Of course, they were fingerless gloves. His pale, delicate fingers stood out against the black fabric. Can’t get any more cringingly emo than that. Not to mention the crop top jacket. It was loose and open, showing the tight black shirt underneath that outlined his muscle contours. His pants were, of course, black, and too tight. I pulled up my own hood as a sort of shield. If he looked this way, all he’d see was another lanky teen in an army-green hoodie. I sent up a prayer that Pidge and Hunk wouldn’t say anything to him. We were all on the same debate team, after all. What if Hunk, ever the gentleman, tried to make small talk? Dear god. I had considered switching events when I found out Keith was doing LD too, but I realized I loved it too much to let it go.  
“The itinerary!” Hunk exclaimed. I jumped in my seat, then cursed under my breath.  
“Keep your voice down!” I hissed, glancing at Keith. He hadn’t noticed. I breathed a sigh of relief.  
“You’re going! Pidge and I are going!” Hunk whispered. My tense muscles relaxed slightly. The Lawrence meet had been worrying me more than I cared to admit. The first meet of the season is usually reserved for varsity, but Coach Coran had told us that some JV would be going along too. I glanced at Keith again, and chose my words carefully,  
“Who else from, uh, novice LD is going?” Hunk looked at his laptop screen.  
“Well, there’s you, Shay, Kevin, and Keith.” I groaned and let my head fall down onto my textbook. Oh, boy. I just had to hope I wouldn’t be sitting next to him on the bus.


	2. Arrival

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Altean Speech and Debate team pulls into Lawrence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! This fic is kind of an experiment. I've never really done a fic in first person before, so tell me what you think of this POV! I also might try switching back and forth between character POVs, so let me know if that's something you'd like to see. Also, I'm torn on whether to do Shallura and Shatt, as I ship them both, so tell me which pairing you'd like to see! It'll be background, but your input is appreciated. And, of course, comments are the thing off of which I thrive, so tell me what you like about my fic!

“You’re taking up the whole seat,” Keith hissed. I rolled my eyes.  
“No I’m not. You’re just too sensitive.” He tried to shove me closer to the window. I shoved back, gaining smug satisfaction in retaining a solid 75% of the seat on which to sit. (Ending a sentence with a preposition is something up with which I shall not put.)   
“Can’t believe I’m on this bus for another hour,” Keith muttered. He sipped from his thermos full of coffee and spilled some down the front of his red hoodie. He swore quietly and wiped it off with his sleeve.   
“Not a morning person, huh?” I teased. Keith glared at me and stared out the window of the seat opposite to us. The sun was beginning to peek over the late golden grain, and the bus hummed with the voices of students who had somehow managed to cast off their fatigue after waking up at four in the morning. I had made a special playlist for the occasion, full of pump-up songs and tunes that made me feel confident and brave. Keith had in black earbuds with red highlights. I was convinced he was blasting MCR or something emo like that. I was certain–still am–that, if one lit three candles and played a “G” on a piano, one would summon Keith, and he would grant three favors before returning to the Spirit Realm. I had discussed the theory with Pidge, and they’d said, “yeah, probably,” so I was taking that as proof. 

I poked Keith in the side and sniggered when he glared at me. I poked him again. His side was surprisingly firm and muscled. The boy didn’t have an ounce of fat on his lean body.   
“Stop that,” he ordered.  
“Make me.” I poked him again. With lightning speed, Keith’s hand shot out and grabbed my wrist. My heart nearly stopped in surprise. He glared at me with smoldering intensity. Unlike my darting blue eyes, his eyes were violet, steady, and focused.   
“Stop poking me,” he enunciated, slowly letting go of my wrist.   
“You’re no fun,” I pouted. My first recourse was always petulant humor. I glared at Keith as he struck up a conversation with Shay, who was seated across the aisle. I was determined to show him I wasn’t to be trifled with. I was angry when he ignored me, only fighting when provoked. Well, fine. I’d show him how good I was at everything and see him struggle to keep up. Step one: beat him at this tournament. Once I had articulated this goal, I felt a lot better. I had a plan to stick to. Now at least my anxieties had names and faces, and I could put them aside. 

The sun was a little higher in the sky. I watched as a road sign came into view. Lawrence - 10 miles, it said. We were getting close. Just as I thought this, Coach Coran stood up from his seat in the front row.   
“Alright, team, we’re getting close,” he announced. “Time for some songs!” I looked at him in confusion. What? Allura stood up from her seat in the back and started to pass out pastel blue sheets of paper. I took one from her with a flirtatious wink. She rolled her eyes. I looked at the sheet. It contained lyrics for a song called “The Rocky Road to Dublin.”   
“What is this?” I asked Keith. He shrugged.  
“No idea.”  
Music started playing over the school bus’ intercom system. Bagpipes. Oh boy. It was an Irish song. After a few bars of instrumental intro, the varsity and returning novice began to lustily sing the song. I glanced around in confusion, then began to sing. I didn’t know the tune, but whatever. I picked up the chorus fairly quickly, but the verses were fast and hard. The song was a full seven minutes of confusion. Once it was done, Coach Coran played the Imperial March. “Uh, what-”   
“SHHHHHHSSHHHHH!” Several people admonished me. I took that to mean that talking during the songs was frowned upon. 

Once the song ended, Coran stood up again, this time with a clipboard.   
“These are your codes,” he announced. “Remember them, write them down. But not on your hand, judges don’t like that.” He read out names and codes while I readied a pen and notecard to write down mine.   
“Lance, FX103.” I nodded and wrote it down. All of our codes started with FX or FC. That wasn’t surprising. All the schools probably had their own two-letter code.   
“Keith, FX104.” I felt petty rage at the closeness of our codes. Keith wrote down his code, then pulled off his hoodie. He was wearing a red tie that stood out against his black-and-white outfit. It was a good look. Not that I’d ever admit I thought that. My own suit was navy blue, with a sky blue bowtie that Pidge had gotten me for my birthday the year prior. The bus pulled up in front of Lawrence Senior. Lawrence was bigger than our city of Altea, but there were two high schools, both of which were smaller than ours. Lawrence Senior was the oldest. There were no gleaming glass and metal walls like at Altea High, just a one-story brick building. Coran was the first to exit the bus. We filed out of our seats one by one and gathered on the grass outside the bus.   
“I need two people to get the snack cooler,” Coran yelled.   
“I’ll do it,” I volunteered.  
“So will I,” said Hunk. Coran thanked us with an appreciative nod. We picked up the large cooler and began to follow the LD varsity inside.   
“I’ll get our tote,” Pidge shouted at our retreating backs.  
“Thanks,” Hunk shouted back. We entered the high school. The varsity led us through a cream-walled hallway to a large pair of double doors. I could hear the chatter and hum of hundreds of voices. Allura threw the doors open to reveal a busy cafeteria. Around every table were students in suits and skirts, talking excitedly.   
“Our tables are over there,” Allura told the group, pointing to some tables in the corner. I watched as a boy in a white toga wrapped in leafy vines hurried past.   
“Drama kids,” Shiro snorted. Matt elbowed him.   
“Be nice, Shiro.” We walked over to our table and I slung my backpack down onto the floor. 

“When are postings up?” Shay asked nervously. I shrugged.   
“Usually around 8:00,” Allura answered. I checked my watch. It was 7:30. I sat down on a tiny little stool attached to the round table. I unzipped my blue backpack with the one zipper that wasn’t stuck and pulled out my black binder and yellow flow pad. Hunk sat down on the stool next to me as Pidge walked up carrying a tub that weighed as much as they did. I was always amazed at Pidge’s strength. How does a little 4’9 gremlin lift more than I can? Makes no sense. As for Hunk, I’d seen him bench-press Keith during gym class before getting yelled at by the teacher for being unsafe. I took out my favorite color-changing pen and started to preflow. I loved that pen. Not only did it have blue, green, red and black, it also had a mechanical pencil in it! I used it for everything, but called it my debate pen. I used green for aff and red for neg. In the space left, I doodled little flowers and paisleys. My flows always looked neat and colorful, as opposed to Keith. The boy couldn’t flow to save his life. I couldn’t ever read his handwriting. It was just black and red scribbles. I watched him preflow. Unlike my careful letters, he just carelessly dashed off a few taglines and then shut his notebook. I gave a snort of contempt. 

“You nervous?” Hunk asked me.  
“Not really. I just wanna win”  
“Exactly! I feel a lot of pressure to do well! I mean, what if I don’t do well and all the varsity get mad at me and Coran gets mad at me and I get kicked off the team–”  
“Relax,” Pidge told him. “Matt told me that, two years back when we didn’t win State, Coran gave a really long, emotional speech about how he was so proud of the team. It brought people to tears.” I raised an eyebrow.  
“Matt didn’t go to State two years ago. He was a freshman.” Pidge shrugged.  
“It was a secondhand account.”  
“So you telling us this is a thirdhand account,” Hunk said. “That doesn’t make me feel better!” Pidge sighed. As if on cue, Matt came over to us and squatted down on the floor between Pidge and I.   
“How’s it going, Pidgeotto?”   
“Uh, pretty good, Baron Von Mattenstein.” I banged my head against my binder. Pidge, Matt and Shiro were the masters of stupid nicknames. It was painful to be around them.   
“Excited for your first meet?”  
“Yeah, but Hunk’s super nervous.” Matt turned to Hunk.  
“Relax, buddy. You’re a great speaker, you’re smart, and you’ve got a passably good partner.”   
“I’m telling mom you said that,” Pidge said, elbowing Matt in the side. He yelped in pain.  
“Okay, okay, you’ve got a really good partner, the best partner. Leave me alone!” Pidge smirked. 

“Let’s go through what we need,” Hunk decided. I nodded.  
“Good idea.”  
“Binder?”  
“Check.”  
“Flow paper?”  
“Check.”  
“Timer”  
“Uh...oh shit.”  
“You forgot your timer?” Pidge started laughing.   
“Oh boy,” they told me, “you better go ask Allura for one.”  
“No problem,” Matt said, handing me a timer, “I always bring extra.” I thanked him profusely. Telling Allura I forgot something was around the bottom of List Of Things I Want To Do, right below Swim In Shark-Infested Waters.   
“Just give it back to me after finals,” Matt told me. I nodded. “I gotta go and help Shiro with the briefs. Good luck.” He stood up and walked over to where the other Public Forum kids had gathered.   
“Can’t believe you forgot your timer,” Pidge said.  
“Give it a rest, Pidge.”  
“I mean, it’s the ONE THING the varsity told us to remember. The ONE THING, and somehow you manage to-”  
“Shut up!”  
“You forgot your timer?” Keith asked from across the table, a sly expression on his face.  
“None of your business!”  
“Isn’t that the one thing the varsity told us to bring?” I glared at him. Pidge and Keith high-fived.   
“You traitor!” I yelled jokingly at Pidge. They shrugged.   
“What are you guys talking about?” Shay asked, sitting down next to Hunk.  
“Oh, ah, Lance forgot his timer,” Hunk told her, looking distinctly more red. I rolled my eyes.  
“Oh no! Did you find one to use? I think I have an extra if you don’t, or if I’m in flight A and you’re in flight B or something-”  
“It’s fine, Matt gave me one,” I interjected. “But thanks for caring, unlike SOMEONE I could mention.” Pidge stuck their tongue out at me.   
“Look!” Keith said, pointing behind us. I looked to the wall where he was pointing.”Postings are up!”  
“Alright, let’s put on our A game, people!” Allura yelled.   
I smoothed down my jacket and picked up my binder. Time to shine.


End file.
